ೃ⁀➷ In the year 1994,
Maya Bennet travels to New York to attend a famous music festival, Woodstock. After stumbling into the wrong tent when searching for her lost boyfriend, she has an odd interaction with a handsome mysterious stranger. A year l...
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"Need a refill, honey?" Walter walks over and points to my glass of coke, rocking his head to the side as he looks over at my empty plate of fries.
I smile, nodding my head as I slide him the cold sweaty glass. "Thank you. I'll only be here a little longer. I'm just finishing up." I flick my pen in between my fingers, darting down to the piece of paper that has barely any ink seeped into it.
"Take your time. We don't close for another hour. You can stay as long you'd like." He smiles as he picks the glass off of the table, pointing to my plate until I pass it over to him as well. "Did you want some more food too honey? I don't mind."
"That's okay Walter, thank you." I shake my head, smiling even more as I watch his eyes light up as he nods at me. "No ice this time, that way you don't have to keep running back and forth." I add on in a laugh as he heads back to the kitchen, holding his thumb up in the air.
I came to the diner around an hour ago to start working on the speech I'm supposed to make in two days at my mom's memorial service. I'm not sure why I'm having such a hard time, but I know where I want it to go, I just can't seem to write out the right words.
My mind's been distracted though. If I'm not thinking about Elliot and the lack of communication we've had lately, I'm thinking about how badly Dean wants this speech to be perfect. I'm not even sure if I want to do it anymore. There's too much going on right now.
I've had to pick up extra shifts at both jobs this week just to make sure we'd have enough money to afford food for afterward in the basement of the church. I'm burned out, completely out of battery, drained, and exhausted, and now I have to write this paper.
I haven't seen Harry since I dropped his cassette tape off two days ago and for some reason, that's been on my mind too. He has been. He shouldn't be. But he has been.
I just can't seem to understand him, I can't figure him out. He's so straightforward and the way he carries himself, he seems like an open book, yet I know nothing about him.
Focusing back down on the paper in front of me, I tap my nails against the table, bouncing my leg on the booth beneath me as the music from the old lit-up jukebox in the corner of the diner plays.
You talk about things that nobody cares Wearing out things that nobody wears
I can't help but think back to the time I was dancing with Elliot to this song, surrounded by a bunch of strangers, in awe of Aerosmith live in front of my eyes last year at Woodstock. While it was an amazing experience, it all brings me back as I sit here and write out what everyone wants to hear me say when I get up in front of a crowd and talk about my mom this Friday.
